The Doctor's Demons
by Emmybooboo
Summary: The often dark and twisted sexual whims of the Doctor can never come true. Not ever. Warning: Very Dark Doctor. Mature Content.
1. Chapter 1

Rose Tyler was the biggest tease he'd ever met, and he had met a lot of beings in his 900 years in this universe. She walked around the TARDIS in her little shirts that didn't properly cover her stomach, in denim that hugged her in all of the wrong (right) ways, in her bath towels after she'd just come from the shower. Rose would sit and rub her hand along his arm, chattering away, and he'd have to sit there and pretend that her touch didn't set fire to his flesh, that he wasn't using every fiber of his being to stop himself from assaulting the poor girl.

Much to his own dismay, the Doctor was finding that this body was different, much different, than all the rest. He didn't have that helpful detachment from his hormonal impulses, didn't have that excellent self control when presented with pretty females, and didn't find the look of Rose Tyler's bare legs as she swung them from the edge of the jump seat unobtrusive. In fact, he found those legs very obtrusive and rather rude, and he wished they'd either wrap around his hips or just walk away. And that was the real problem—he couldn't stop thinking about her legs wrapped around him, her body naked and his to ravage. He couldn't stop picturing all the ways he'd like to shag Rose, and it was rather hard to carry about saving the world when his cock wouldn't stop throbbing, wasn't it?

Some days he doubted why he asked her to come. He knew from the start this would be a problem, knew this body was different, more savage, more angry, more noticeably sex starved than the rest. He wondered if it was a mistake to bring a beautiful little human girl aboard while he was like this. In other bodies-sure, why not, didn't seem to matter. But his other bodies weren't born of fire and rage, weren't walking war machines who destroyed everything they touched. But this body was in tune with every nuance in her skin, every dimple on her lip, every curve of her hip. And it was dangerous to have her around, always fighting with himself to stay off of her, keep his hands to himself, not throw her on the ground and rip her clothing to shreds, mark her body with his mouth. Yes, it was definitely dangerous.

But the other thing about this body—the thing he wasn't sure he liked one bit—was the way it was hell bent on destroying itself, and that wouldn't do. He really didn't fancy dying, hated it actually, and Rose Tyler seemed pretty capable of keeping him from doing just that. It had started pretty innocent, expected her to stay for one, maybe two trips, just keep him from blowing himself up or something, but then she kept wanting to stay, kept proving how much he needed her. And he grew to like her presence enough, liked the way she was rather brilliant here and there, liked the way she seemed to adore him. It wasn't really that he didn't return her affections, she was a girl worth fancying, but it was just so different for him. So much more complicated than simply liking her. He needed her for gods sake, and that need kept spiraling into something darker. Something he could only barely control. He needed her to keep him from killing himself, but also needed her flesh and her screams, needed her in a dark and demented and revolting way. Having Rose Tyler around was like swallowing fire, and yet he just kept gulping the flames down.

This particular day, the Doctor mused, had been the worst and best yet. She'd worn a little sundress thing, something she never wore, and he had enjoyed the way the fabric draped over that little arse of hers, and the way her shoulders were so naked to him. It was the best because he enjoyed milking every glance of her that he could manage. It was the worst because he'd had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from making his constant erection noticeable.

After the people of Nexilla 77 had bid them goodbye, and Rose had slammed the door of the TARDIS closed behind them, he'd thought he might get some rest. Sure that Rose would scamper off to whatever human needs she needed to take care of, he'd expected some time to himself. He nodded at her, gave her his tight lipped smile, and headed down the hallway. She'd skipped along behind him, he hoped to her own room, but her sweet fragrance was still right behind him when he made it to his door. He turned awkwardly, trying to make sure the bulge in his trousers stayed hidden, and gave her a questioning look.

"Whatcha gonna do?" She grinned at him, her tongue between her teeth, and he practiced deep breathing in his mind, trying terribly hard to resist capturing that tongue in his mouth.

"Uh, ya know. Get some rest. Do...you need somethin'?" His hand hovered over the knob, desperate to be alone.

"'m all keyed up! Thought I could come hang out wit' ya, yeah?" And those bare shoulders slipped passed him, opened the door, and strode right into his room. Groaning quietly, he'd followed her, hoping she would prattle on and he could slip away to the restroom to take care of his problem. The problem that was absolutely growing as he watched her sit on the edge of his bed, watcher her cross her legs and run a hand through her hair. The problem that was agonizing and delicious and disgusting all at the same time.

"Those Nexillan were jus' _wild, _yeah?" She laughed, tossing herself backwards on the bed, chatter spilling from her lips. "I thought we'd never get them to agree to tha'! But you're such a sweet talker, can't believe ya pulled tha' off!" Her voice was light and airy, girlish. He wished like hell she'd just leave, let him alone to his perverted ways.

"Sweet talker? Nah. Just common sense talker, me!" He crossed his arms, shifted, then sat awkwardly in the chair by the dresser. Crossed one leg. Why was she still there?

"Nah, you're a sweet talker. You could charm the pants off any dame!" She giggled, her stomach vibrating in a delicious way.

"Well, maybe a dame who wears pants." What was he doing? He needed her out. He needed an excuse, something to distract her, send her off so he could just take care of this... But she was being flirty, and he craved flirty Rose. And the image of her laying back on his bed, talking about what a charmer he was certainly added to the fantasy that he was brewing.

"Oi! D'you like it, then?" She sat up and smoothed her dress about her, and the Doctor had no idea what she was going on about. _Get out, please! _

"Sorry?" He shifted forward, clasping his hands together.

"M'dress! Do you like m'dress?" She blushed a little, and his cock twitched. He wanted to be the reason she turned that shade of red.

It was an absurd question. She never asked him things like this, but he humored her, half his mind planning his excuse to get her to leave. "'s lovely." He tried to ignore the delighted little smile she gave him. "Rose, I hate to ask, but I could really use a cuppa 'bout now." He gave her a half smile, and knew he was playing on her sweet side, that side that was anxious to please him, but gods if he didn't need her out of there. And it worked, of course it did. She smiled brightly and skipped out of the room, and the Doctor exhaled deeply.

Jumping up, he clicked the lock on the door behind her and unfastened his belt, dropping his trousers to the floor, shoving his pants aside, freeing himself. Images he had been saving up all day came flooding to him as he took himself in his hand: the way her dress clung to her chest, extra bits of very creamy white flesh peaking out if she turned just so; the mole on her shoulder that he somehow hadn't know was there and needed to taste; the way her behind had looked when the wind caught her dress and plastered it against her. He stroked himself greedily, knowing he had to be quick, knowing she'd be along.

One hand against the door, the Doctor steadied himself while he pumped. It was dry, savage, he wished he'd had some lube or lotion, but he didn't have time. He tightened his fist, squeezed, thrust into his own hand while he listened to her footsteps coming down the corridor. His mouth dropped open in pleasure as he stroked, heard her grab the doorknob, find it locked.

"Doctor? I've got a nice cuppa fo' ya!" Her voice just on the other side of the door, he squeezed his eyes shut and pumped harder.

"Just..." He struggled, stopped thrusting for a moment. "Just a second!" Managing to spew the words out, he resumed his movements. His cock pulsed and ached, his arousal deep from the long day of watching that tease run around.

"Doctor, open up!" She tried the door again, and he pressed more of his weight into it, so close.

"Yeah, one sec!" Just...almost there. He imagined her face if she knew what he was doing, imagined her dropping to her knees and finishing him off, no more silly questions, just his cock in her mouth and his seed down her throat. He came violently, his body shuddering as he milked the liquid into his hand.

"Doctor? Ya alright in there?" Her sweet voice, her innocent worry about him. He scooped his trousers up, hobbled over to his en suite, and set about cleaning up. He tried to be quick, and as he washed the soap over his fingers he scolded himself for being so filthy, so disgusting. Rose trusted him and here he was wanking off to images of her mouth.

His clothing mostly righted, his sanity mostly restored, he opened the door and revealed a concerned looking Rose. He shoved the guilt away, shoved the dark part of himself down, and forced himself to be normal, be kind.

"Ah! Perfect, thanks!" He grabbed the tea from her hand, strolled back to his chair, and plopped down, sipping away.

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**A/N: Hello folks! Thank you for taking a chance and reading this far, please leave me your reactions. I feel like I have to warn you, this is not going to be the same Nine that was in my other fic, Seducing the Doctor, but I do hope that you'll grow to like him. **

**More soon, xox Emmy B. **

**p.s. love to TARDIS-BadWolf for continued support and hand-holding! **


	2. Chapter 2

Jack Harkness was absolutely the last person that the Doctor wanted on the TARDIS, but this new body seemed to have masochistic traits. He'd been arguing with Rose, irritated and sexually frustrated, as always, when he turned around and realized Jack was still there, and was apparently staying, and since he'd angered Rose enough lately, he resigned himself to the fact. He closed and opened his fists a few times, trying to steady himself, resist the urge to bend Rose over his knee and smack that arse for being such a frustration. All day she teased him, implied he was incapable of the things that this Harkness fellow was obviously capable of, and then she brings him aboard. It wasn't enough that he'd been spending far too many hours creating elaborate fantasies about Rose that could never come true, but now he was going to have to watch her flirt and flounce with another man.

"Ready, Doctor?" Her singsong voice grated his nerves. While her voice was usually a nice and pleasant thing, he was far too tense. Instead of answering, he ran to the console and set about piloting, trying to think of a place where they were likely to lose Jack. Maybe a casino or a brothel.

The real trouble was that Rose kept touching Jack. She laughed with him and let her arm brush against his, and the Doctor noticed. He noticed the way her eyes dilated a bit while she chatted with him, noticed the subtle lick of her lips before she spoke, noticed the way she had adjusted her blouse, pulled it down just a tad when she thought no one was looking. She was interested in Jack, and the Doctor was filled with even more rage than normal at the idea. She was his, even if she didn't know it, and he really did not agree with the idea of sharing. At least not women. At least not pink women with yellow hair and supple breasts. At least not women that he had very much claimed as his own when he brought her aboard _his _spaceship and wanked off to thoughts of her every day.

The Doctor tried to put his urges away. This body was so new, still so raw, and he needed to get it under control. He needed to be able to hug his companion without wanting to jam his tongue down her throat. He needed to grab her hand and run for safety without having to remind himself not to throw her up against a wall and thrust his hand down her jeans. It was a constant struggle to get the urges under control. He tried ignoring them, didn't let himself relieve his tension for a full days days before he collapsed on his bed and took care of things.

He remembered days when it was easier. When his life was full of adventure, sure, but his hearts didn't feel torn apart, when his mind didn't carry so much guilt. But he wasn't that man anymore, any of them, and he also felt mourning for that. The Doctor felt grief over what he had lost in himself as Time Lord. His innate kindness was shattered, and it took Rose's coaxing to bring it back out. His sense of vengeance was high, and he spent more time than he should trying to squash that need for revenge. His ability to love without any kind of pretense seemed to be broken, as he found that no matter much he tried, he couldn't move his feelings for Rose out of the defiling and wretched place that he harbored them. _  
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Filled with disgust, he shoved off the console, too irritated to think of anywhere decent to take them. Not that they minded. He watched from the corner of his eye as Rose leaned over the railing, giggled, while Jack stood on the other side smiling. This was not a damn amusement part, those rails were not meant for hanging about and chatting on. They were important structural components and the only fraternizing on them that he wanted happening was if he were to ever bend Rose over one and pound into her from behind. Not that it was a very likely possibility, but he despised watching them anyway.

"What's his problem?" The Doctor heard them muttering as he stormed out of the room, and he didn't care. Let them wonder which of their disgusting exchanges had driven him from the room, his room, on his TARDIS. Rationally, he knew he had no right to be jealous. He'd made no declarations to Rose, had never asked her for anything other than friendship, and logically knew that she had no idea how he felt. She made that clear every day: the Doctor doesn't dance, the Doctor doesn't snog, the Doctor doesn't date, as if she were trying her best to record and log every abnormality she thought she'd found in him to further justify why they could never be together. And he didn't care. Not really. He didn't care what Rose thought of any of it because he had no intention of ever acting on any of his lewd ideas, but he did resent the idea that she found Jack more appealing than him.

Alone in his room, he clicked the lock and made the familiar trip to his bed, loosening his belt and trousers as he went, resigned to the fact that he needed to release the tension from the day or he'd only grow more angry, more dark. Falling backwards on the bed, he took himself in his hand and began his ritual. He stroked, squeezed...but his body was tense. The Doctor was stressed, agitated, and if there was ever a night that he wished he could actually use Rose for the dark intentions he carried around, it was tonight.

He clenched his eyes closed and tried again, rubbed his thumb along the head of his cock, trying to distract himself, but his mind was flooded with Rose and Jack. And usually just the idea of Rose was enough, but Jack was an intruder in his mind. The Doctor reached down and lazily grabbed his own balls, growing more annoyed with his own pathetic movements. Rose would do it better, he thought. Rose would shimmy around a bit first, taking her clothes off slowly. She'd tease him, the way she always did without knowing it, and then she'd drop to her knees in front of him. His erection grew and he continued his fantasy. Imagined her tongue licking him up and down like a treat, imagined her eyes closed while he gently bumped her cheek with his length. Reaching out to his side drawer, he felt around for the little bottle. Poured some out, groaned as the liquid helped his hand slip up and down himself, imagined it was Rose's saliva wetting his cock.

Somehow it's not quite enough. He's bothered and uneasy and aroused and he just...needs more. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, rifled around the drawer some more. Found the photo, set it on the little table and then resumed his motions, his eyes glued to that smile. That mouth. The Doctor had a problem with her mouth, always in his mind, this idea of jamming his cock into that mouth, so far down her throat that her eyes would water. This idea of tangling her hair in his fingers as he pumped into her, his knees over her shoulders, pulling her in. He pumped faster, his body tightening in that wonderful way it did. No matter how tense he was, how high strung his body felt, that moment before climax always made it worse, so much worse, and then he'd come, and it'd be better, so much better.

When he came, he let out a loud sigh and fell backwards on the bed, disgusted. Rose Tyler was an innocent Earth girl that helped him save the universe here and there, and she did not deserve the horrific things he did did while he thought of her, or that he thought of her in general. The Doctor wiped himself down, cleaned himself up, and stared in the mirror, tried to wipe his face clean of the filth he was perpetuating. Tried to look himself in the eye, failed.

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**A/N: I love reading your reactions, please let me know what you're thinking so far! **

**More soon. xox Emmy **


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor devised ways to punish himself after a while. While who he really wanted to punish was Rose, wanted to make her behind so red from his hand print that she'd whimper, he knew that he was the culprit. He was the depraved one, and he needed to punish the thoughts that kept him disturbed all day long.

The first kind of punishment was physical. He asked the TARDIS to give him a gym, somewhere he could work out, and he found himself there day after day. The weights felt like a rush, and he welcomed it, happy to find adrenaline in something besides the tangy smell of Rose. The block of wood in the corner was a relief too. He found pleasure in the burnt red color that he produced from his knuckles as he hit the wood, found beauty in the way his hands would crack and sear and scab. His body ached after every session, sweat dripping from his face as he fell against a wall, and he would delight in the fact that he was aching with something besides need.

Rose found him after a bout in the gym once. She'd screamed and grabbed his hand, wanted to know what he'd been up to and could she help him, and the Doctor was so glad that he hardly noticed her. She was fawning over him and worried, but his body was in so much pain that he didn't have his usual reaction to her, didn't feel any desires to touch her or kiss her or claim her. He'd shrugged her off, rolled his eyes for effect, and headed to his room. The Doctor ignored that little of sting of pain he felt about ignoring her, being openly rude even, but he was doing this for her. Doing this protect her.

The second kind of punishment was mental. This body had seen so many horrible things, done those things with these actual hands, that he could hardly live with the fact that he seemed to crave more horrible things. He'd killed people, destroyed planets, fought in a war that was supposed to kill him, and now he sat in his alive state and thought about fucking Rose? It was unacceptable.

The mental punishment began with meditations. Not his usual kind, not meditation to bring himself clarity, but to bring himself to the truth. He forced himself to sit perfectly still and remember every single thing he'd done to deserve the punishment. The Doctor pictured the look on the people's faces as they fell to the ground, sorrow in their core over having just lost their planet at his hands. He forced himself to keep the tears inward as he remembered Gallifrey, and the way it had been reduced to rubble and ash because of him. He brought to mind vivid images of the other Time Lords, too afraid to do what he did, hating him, cursing him. His own mother with her hands over her face, his friends with their mouths open in shock. The small children who cried his name, asked him for help, but he destroyed them. Destroyed everyone and everything so that he could prevent the Daleks from destroying everyone and everything. The pain felt like acid in his veins, and he welcomed it.

But the physical and mental punishments did not have their desired effects. He'd hoped, given enough time, that his body would become so broken internally that the sexual urges would fade, a lost artifact of a body once whole. He did become more broken, more tortured, but the feelings of lust continued unhindered. And that was never more obvious than when Rose and Jack dragged him to a pub, insisted on drinking themselves silly, and openly groped each other. Rose let Jack touch her in place he had only dreamed. Jack's hand rested on the small of Rose's back as they swirled around the dance floor, his mouth hovered over her ear and her mouth, that mouth, and she laughed with him. Rose wrapped her arms around Jack's neck and the Doctor felt his core temperature rise. The scarring on his knuckles did nothing to ease this agony. The clear memories of planets being destroyed did not convince him to stay seated. His punishment, though a good idea he had thought, were ultimately not keeping him from tossing back drink after drink and sauntering around the pub, looking for trouble.

He found what he was looking for in a burly man spewing insults. The man drank his ale and shouted something racist, something that meant nothing to the Doctor, but served as a good excuse just the same, and the Doctor didn't even think, just acted. He swung his fist, imagining the man's face was a block of wood, and he ducked, swerved, landed another hit to the man's stomach before he felt arms on his shoulders. Knew it was Jack, hated that, but let him pull him away. Let the Fake Captain lead him out of the bar, ignored Rose's squeals and worried little noises because wasn't she the reason it had all happened anyway?

The trio was quiet then. The Doctor was brooding, wishing he were drunker than he was, and the love birds walked behind him slowly. Part of his rational mind worried that if he scared Rose, she might leave, and the other part of his mind told him that might be the best gift she could give him. He loved having her around, but it just kept getting more difficult. The Doctor suspected that maybe if Jack weren't there, maybe if were just the two of them again, he would be able to control himself better, but Rose seemed pretty attached. In fact, lately she was landing in Jack's arms for hugs after adventures, only finding him as an after thought, and that burned.

Inside, surrounded by the familiar hum of his TARDIS and the comforting sight of his console, the Doctor knew he had to make things right. Facing them, he took a deep breath.

"Sorry 'bout that. Lost m'temper. Nothin' to worry 'bout, though!" He gave them a big grin, his famous daft old grin, and they seemed to relax. He saw Rose eye him skeptically, but Jack just slapped him on the back, told him some nonsense about having lost his own temper in a bar in Hawaii, no doubt trying to impress Rose and comfort the Doctor at the same time. The time agent was a nuisance.

"Well, 'm beat. Gonna head to bed!" Rose ran her hand along Jack's arm as she passed him, and then surprised them both when she spun around and wrapped her arms around the Doctor. Her face pressed into his neck for just a moment, and the scent of her was overwhelming. His body stiffened against her, aware that he was much too keyed up to be touching her, and let her Rose whisper to him.

"G'night, Doctor." She breathed the words, and they sounded like music to him. The Doctor and Jack watched with wonder as Rose skipped around the corner, down to her own room. Following her a moment later, the Doctor made sure to escort Jack to his own room, asking the TARDIS silently to keep Jack and Rose apart, keep their doors miles away from one another.

Finally alone, the Doctor rummaged through his dresser drawer and heaved a heavy sigh. He'd scared her, then evoked pity in her, all in one night. It was disgusting, but a part of him indulged in the fantasy of taking advantage of that pity. Taking her to his bed and letting her worry over him while he thrust up into her. Let her make soothing noises and whisper little comforting words to him while he listened to the wet sound of their bodies coming together over and over.

Finding his purchase, he carried the flimsy paper to his chair, tossed it down while he undressed. Shame hovered over him, but he dismissed it as much as he could. It was about sex, nothing else. His skin felt flushed and his muscles felt strained, and his erection throbbed at the cool air finally reaching it. He settled himself in the chair with the magazine and flipped through it. He focused on a brunette with large eyes and huge breasts, stroked himself as he gave the woman a name. He'd call her Gina, and he'd fuck Gina until she screamed for mercy. But Gina's voice wouldn't sound right, he was sure of that, so he flipped the page, tightened his grip on his cock while he eyed a ginger woman with tiny breasts, and he called this one Sandra. He'd bend Sandra over the bed and slam into her, pull on her mop of red hair while he emptied himself. But Sandra's hair wasn't that appealing, he realized. He pumped his hand a little more forcefully as he settled on a blonde. He didn't dare name her, didn't even look at her face. He focused on the medium size breasts she was holding in her own hands, and he found himself grunting, growling as he let his hand be her, let his hand drag the pleasure out of him, force him to find release. He tried to push Rose out of his mind, she didn't belong there, and if he were going to do such a revolting thing, the least he could do was keep her out of it, but his mind wandered. He found himself gripping the magazine tight, eyes closed, his cock pulsing in his hand as he came. And when he did, it was shattering and not at all satisfying. He sat, his hand wrapped around his limp manhood, a mess on his stomach, and the crumpled magazine on the floor, and the Doctor wondered what the point of surviving the Time War had been if he were going to be reduced to this.

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**A/N: Ahem. Yes, well, the darkness continues. **

**I'm astounded, as ever, by the wonderful comments you have all been leaving. I so appreciate them, and encourage you to share with me your thoughts on this chapter. **

**Much love & more soon, as always. xox Emmy **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: You may not like this. The Doctor gets very dark. Read at your own risk. **

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He'd be lying if he said that their location was an accident, though that's what he did—lie. He didn't like it one bit, lying to them, because truly they were his friends. They were good, kind people who deserved more from him than a lie and an excuse and leaving them to fend for themselves in the shady marketplace, but he was not good people. He was not even decent people. He was a depraved Time Lord with an inkling for little blonde girls named Rose who looked at him with tenderness despite what he was.

Jack knew. The Doctor knew that he knew, and it only added to the sickness. He kept his lips in a tight line as he watched Jack nod and put his arm around Rose's shoulders, steer her toward the market, away from him. The Doctor sighed, coming to terms with things. Jack was protecting Rose for him so that he could go do what he needed. Jack wasn't telling Rose what he was doing, wasn't ratting him out. The twinge of pity in Jack's eye was almost enough to make march right back to the TARDIS. But he's not a good Time Lord, not a good man, and he turned and headed down the windy street.

"_Oi! What are ya gonna do, Time Lord? Spank me?" Rose had shouted, playfully hitting him in the arm. _

He knocked on the door three times and made his face as impassive as he could. The woman appraised him quickly, stepped back, let him enter. Herbs and spices and soot filled his nostrils, and he jammed his hands in his pockets and waited. A quick discussion, actual bills of money were handled. The Doctor made sure he had money, couldn't live with himself if he used the psychic paper or some bogus credit system for something like this. No, these people deserved the full payment for their services.

"Blonde?" She asked, counting the bills.

"Yeah." He could hardly speak, his shame like a rock in his throat.

"_Maybe I will, Rose Tyler!" He had laughed, his eyes dark with hunger. _

The woman gestured, and a pink and yellow human girl came out of the other room. Her lips were painted pink, her hair chemically yellow, her body sheathed in gauzy red fabric. The word _cheap_ settled in his brain, but he pushed it away, turned his face to the woman in charge.

"_Ha! You'd have to catch me!" She teased, and he had steadied his grip on the console. _

"Age?" He could have asked the girl, but somehow it made more sense to speak about her, like she was an object he was purchasing, which she was.

"18. Clean. Okay?" He nodded and followed the girl up the stairs, his breath tasting stale and his hearts hammering as he went. His boots echoed on the floor, and he warred internally. This was fine. It would be consensual. It wouldn't harm anything with Rose. He'd feel better and not hurt her. It was still vile and wrong, but it wasn't a wrong against her, and that's about as much as he could give Rose.

The room was bathed in golden light, and the girl's skin looked sickly under the hue. She unfastened her little robe and stood before him, naked. His erection from earlier, at the suggestion of spanking her, was still evident. He couldn't get the damn things to go away anymore, he just remained in a state of frustrated arousal until he slunk off to his room. His body was an entity he couldn't control anymore, and being out of control was as close to dying as he thought he could stand.

The Doctor nodded, jutted his chin out, and the girl scurried over to him, began undressing him. And it felt okay. It felt okay, if he closed his eyes, to let someone take care of this for him. He tried to imagine it was Rose pulling his belt out, and that it was Rose's footsteps he heard moving. When he was nude, he opened his eyes and found himself reeling. Anger, lust, need. Anger.

"On your knees." He gestured toward the bed, and the girl scampered over, dropping to her hands and knees on the blankets. He stood behind her and let his eyes wander. The hips were too slender, not very womanly, and her shoulder blades jutted out just a bit. She had a little tattoo on her back, and he wondered what the little symbols meant to her. Had she been full of hope and joy the day she got them? Had she ever thought that a dirty old Time Lord would be looking at them while he inspected her naked behind? A shiver raced through his body as he contemplated how wrong it was. He didn't want this girl, didn't find her attractive in her own right, but she looked just enough like Rose to help him fantasize, help him do what he thought needed to be done.

Her sex was not wet, not even moist looking, and the thought angered him. Rose would be wet. Somehow, he just knew that. Knew that if he ever got lucky enough to feel like he could have Rose naked in a room with him, she would be wet. In fact, he'd make sure of it. But somehow he didn't want to make sure that this girl was moist. He reached out and stroked her there, halfway attempting to help her, feeling the smallest bit of pity and the largest bit of irritation. She didn't make noise, didn't move around, just waited. He dipped his finger inside of her, hoping to draw the moisture out, and she suddenly seemed to realize she was supposed to be participating. She bucked her hips backwards against his hand, but things were still...dry. Sighing, he decided to do what he actually came to do.

"I'm going to..." He couldn't even say it, but he needed her to know what she was getting into. What she had been bought for.

The girl turned her head and nodded at him, gave him permission without even knowing what it was. It was the kind of sadness he saw in himself, and he nearly bolted out of the room. How could he do this to someone as broken as himself? He should help this girl. The Doctor helped people, he didn't perpetuate their misery. He thought of his previous bodies, and how they would never have found themselves here. His other bodies would have loved Rose as a best mate and been content with that, would never have had such lewd ideas about her that they found themselves in a brothel with a broken girl.

Deep breaths. He needed this, though. Ashamed and disgusted and miserable, he still needed this. Closing his eyes to focus, he brought his hand up. He opened his eye as his palm connected with her flesh, and the red color that appeared was pleasing. He waited, though, curious how she would react. The girl stayed still, dropped her head a little, but did not act like it hurt. He raised his hand again and slapped the other cheek, a small grin lifting the corner of his mouth as he managed to hear a little yip from her.

The Doctor's erection begged attention, and he took it in his hand, stroking himself as he brought his hand up one final time, brandishing her across both cheeks. The Doctor felt himself slipping away, watching this happen, leaving himself in this moment of horror. He took himself in both hands then and rubbed. He could slip inside her, knew that was part of the payment, but she was so dry and so...not Rose. Still, he felt better. Felt tension pouring out of his body as he pumped himself, his hips leaning forward and his cock so close to those red cheeks.

"D'you want help, sir?" The girl turned her head a little, tried to be helpful, but the sight of her face revolted him. Caught him off guard. She was not Rose. Looked nothing like her. His pumping became angry, furious, and suddenly wanted he nothing more than to get this over with, be done, go find the real Rose.

"No. Come here." She turned and crawled to him, her angular face looking up at him, waiting, somehow knowing, and of course she knew, she did this every day. Every single day she did exactly this for scumbags like him. His fist made one final journey before he came, spilling on to her waiting mouth, happily accepting what he could not—that he had done this. He jerked away from her, didn't let her touch him, couldn't let her mouth actually come near him for fear he'd lash out and hurt the poor girl.

He didn't offer to help her clean up. He didn't offer to do anything really, but he tossed extra bills on the table as he redressed himself.

He needed to be better. Needed to try harder to control himself. The punishment hadn't done much good, and the prostitute only seeded his disgust with himself deeper, and even though he had no idea what the alternative should be, he looked for the pair in the marketplace with an optimistic attitude. His eyes roamed greedily over the crowds, looking for the woman who had started all of this for him, not that he held her responsible. No, it was his body, born of fire, that carried him to this dark and sickening place, she was merely the focus of his foul attentions. Finding them by a stand of fruit, the Doctor came up behind her, put his arm around her shoulder and grinned happily, faking it. Always faking it.

"Hey! Get those documents all straightened out, then?" She smiled widely at him, her innocence as evident as tongue between her teeth.

"Yep! What'd I miss?" He saw Jack raise his eyebrows, and decided to meet his eyes. Better be honest with someone, aye? Jack looked questioning, and the Doctor could only give him a half-smile, shame and guilt and honesty the only things he seemed to have.

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**A/N: As I mentioned, this is not our loving Doctor from my other fic. This is me exploring a different part of the character, one that I think a lot of us want to pretend isn't there. **

**You honor me with your reviews. And super duper double thanks to those of you who are return reviewers from Seducing the Doctor, I know you're taking a chance on this with me, and I love ya for it! **


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of her giggles haunted him like the score of a film, playing eternally in the back of his mind. He'd be laying in bed, cock in hand, and suddenly he'd hear her laughing, seeking him out in his darkest moments. He would be sliding his arms in the sleeves of his jacket and catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror and there she'd be, in his mind, letting her joy flow. Flipping a switch on the console, Rose fast asleep in her room, and he'd hear the little chimes of her voice pushing him. At first it was unsettling, and the Doctor cursed his traitor mind for punishing him even further. If he were to have any hope of conquering his thoughts of Rose, his mind was going to have to cooperate and keep her out of it.

The prostitute had been a mistake, he understood that now. She hadn't had a choice in the matter, he'd just bought her and spanked her and come all over her mouth, and he filed that away under reasons he was disgusting. The girl had given him something he desperately needed: closeness, but the cost on his soul was too great. No, if he were going to find any kind of release from the nightmare in his mind, he needed the female to be willing. Needed her to want him in at least part of the same repulsive way that he was going to want her.

In the dim light of the bar, the Doctor knew his daft old face might appear the smallest bit handsome, and he was thankful for that. He wasn't blessed with the pretty face of his last body, all the long hair and delicate features that women seemed to like. This face was stern and brooding, and took great amounts of effort to make it smile or laugh. At least it felt like effort. Everything felt like such an effort lately, and he suspected it was the anger sickening him, quite literally, down to his core.

The anger was multifaceted, stretching from the the deaths of his friends to the Time War to the frustration of Rose's mouth, and he needed to handle it before it consumed him. He'd felt it clawing at the back of his mind, swirling in his hearts, and that was the reason he found himself hunting, or so he reasoned. He needed her to be blonde, absolutely, because it would just be easier that way. She needed to have a certain amount of desperateness to her, and he was quite skilled in finding that in people (for reasons he didn't wish to explore). She needed to be older, he couldn't handle the pain that he felt when he hurt that young girl, and besides, she'd likely be a lot less hurt if she had lived some life already. As for the rest, anything would do.

His prey was everything he needed, plus a little intoxicated. He sat beside her and let her prattle on about her job, her life, as if she needed to impress him, as if he hadn't already made his mind up the second he sat down beside her. She touched his arm playfully, doing her best impression of flirtation, and he summoned all of his efforts to smile. Gave her a good, decent smile, and let her keep talking, let her keep stroking the muscles in his arm even though it felt like her hand was made of scales and ice.

It was when she started licking her lips between breaths and batting her eyelashes that he heard Rose's laughter, egging him on. Hearing her was enough, was that final push he needed to remind him why he had sought out this companionship, and he found himself lifting the older woman by her elbow, smiling as best he could, guiding her toward the door. She tried to lean up to him, tried to snog him a bit, but he evaded her mouth, finding it decrepit and stale, pulled her along.

Her home was filthy, and the Doctor wished he had thought to offer a hotel. Dirty clothes hung from lampshades, the carpet seemed crusty in more places than one, and an odor of rotten vegetables filled his nose. He wondered how many other men had stepped through this threshold and seen these same things, thought these same thoughts, and fucked her anyway? Yes, he was that kind of man, if he were a man at all. She took him to a kitchen, offered him a coffee, and suddenly he couldn't stand the pretenses anymore. Couldn't take one more second of pretending this was something it wasn't. He pushed her against the counter top and ran his hands along her sides, swallowed bile as she moaned and tried to find his mouth again.

Somehow he avoided her advances, used his hips to pin her, captured her hands and held them above her head against the cupboard. She wouldn't stop moaning, and he wished he had a gag or something to shut her up, but Rose started laughing again, mocking him and his pathetic attempts to forget her. Growling, the Doctor shifted her wrists to one hand and used the other to loosen his trousers, drop his pants. She bucked her slightly fleshy hips forward, seeking friction, trying to hike her leg up above his hip. The whole scene disgusted him, and he dropped his forehead against hers, shame and second thoughts pouring over him.

"'ey there, love. Know what you need." The woman tried to nip at his lips, but he turned his head, released her arms. The Doctor fell back against the counter and massaged his temples, tried to get Rose to shut up so he could think, figure out what to do. Did he want this? This strange woman that meant nothing, could give him nothing but momentary relief from the incessant giggling in his mind? He tried to answer, tried to form a coherent thought, but the woman was on her knees, fondling him, stroking him to life. And even though her face wasn't right at all, and her shoulders had such a thick slope about them, and her nose turned up at the end much more than he liked, he gripped the edges of the Formica and hissed his breath out through his teeth.

She pulled his trousers and his pants down over his hips, and cupped his testicles so aggressively that his eyes shot open and regarded the woman with curious eyes. She grinned at him and stroked him, his cock soft from the sound of Rose laughing at him, but his need was there. He needed to come until Rose was gone. Right out of his mind, so that maybe he could think reasonably, take her home and stop needing her in so many different and confusing ways.

"There's a big boy, now. Know just what you need." She ran her long nail up his length and even though it was horrible, he stiffened under her touch.

"Please. Don't speak." He didn't mean to sound so abrasive, but he needed quiet. Needed this to happen before he changed his mind and spent another two weeks suffering and slowly going mad while Rose pranced around him like the minx she was.

The woman seemed to understand, gods bless her, and she took him in her mouth, let her sticky saliva coat him from tip to base and back. She rolled his balls between her fingers and wrapped her other hand around him, massaging the parts of him that her thin lips and shallow throat couldn't take. The Doctor closed his eyes and titled his head back, skyward. He wished it were the actual sky above him instead of her dirty ceiling. Wished he were looking at his home, the stars.

He could feel her breath on him every time she withdrew, and the dampness, every time, made him ready to bolt. The prostitute had been so dry. It had been a very dry affair, and even though he wished it had been different at the time, he found this much worse. The wetness she kept spreading around him was suffocating, and he felt the anger blooming inside him even though this was supposed to be helping it. Rose cackled in his mind, his chest creaked with agony, and it was too much. The sound that came from his lips then sounded oddly like a scream, and his hands gripped the woman's skull with pressure. He forced himself down her throat, pumped his hips greedily into her mouth. On some level he heard her choking, knew she was scrambling about, trying to get off him, but he thrust.

When he came, the Doctor yelled in a language the woman would later never be able to describe to her girlfriends, and he shot liquid down her throat for much longer than normal, his body emptying itself of the pent up aggression. Rose's laughter died down, now only a soft lullaby somewhere near his cerebellum, and he released the woman. She stumbled backwards, landing on her bottom, her eyes wild with fear and arousal and, he knew, a little brokenness.

"Ya like it rough, aye?" She grinned madly, running her own fingers through her hair, wiping the corners of her mouth.

"I...m'sorry. That was...that was rude." He yanked his pants and trousers up, hastily trying to dress before the woman began screaming at him.

"Don't go. Not through yet." She crawled on all fours towards him, her mouth in a smile that didn't make sense. She should be furious at him. Should want to call the police. Should have some kind of self respect. The sight of her crawling to him, on floors he was sure hadn't been properly washed in months, wanting more instead of being frightened, split him down the center. His rage sizzled for a moment, and his body stood there soaked in pity, in regret. He was the reason she was like this. Him, and countless other blokes, coming in here, using her, treating her like the rubbish she collected.

"You...you are better than this." His face was incredulous, his eyes sorrowful and worried. He leaned down and helped her to her feet, cupped her cheek in his hand. "Much better than this. Don't let men do this to you." He looked her right in the eye, desperate to fix what he'd broken. But she furrowed her brows and tightened her mouth, rose her hand up and connected it to his cheek.

"Don't you do that! Come in 'ere and jam your cock down m'throat an' think ya can give me advice. Ya don't know me!" His face stung, and some flight instinct ignited. He backed out of her house, her arms crossed and a tear running down her cheek. This was wrong, so wrong, and Rose's laughter echoed louder, piercingly into his mind. Mocking him. Teasing him. Killing him.

In the TARDIS, he found Rose on the jump seat, swinging those bare legs back and forth.

"And where 'ave you been?" She grinned at him in that way he adored and despised, and he thought he could cry. Thought he could break down right then, empty his soul and start over maybe. Let the anger and the rage flow out of him in tears and then maybe start fresh, have a go at the nicer side of himself that he suspected might be hiding. Or, better yet, he could find a way to die, let himself regenerate, use up one more because what did it really matter anyway if he were going to be this twisted?

"Went out. Looking for...something." He focused his eyes on the grating.

"Pretty late, ya? What were ya lookin' for?" Rose stood and circled the console, came up beside him. He worried that she could smell it on him, that decaying vegetable smell, that salty semen stench. He stepped away from her, always away.

"Don't know. Didn't find it, either." He shrugged and met her gaze, let her glimpse the hurt for just a moment, and then headed down the hall. Always away.

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**A/N: I'm sorry for the delay on this. Had a bit of writer's block combined with some personal things. You know. **

**Reviews are appreciated and adored, please leave me your thoughts. **

**More soonish, much love, Emmy. **


	6. Chapter 6

The hallways of the TARDIS were cold under his bare feet as he paced. He'd been in his own bed at least three times already, always finding himself pacing again, lingering near Rose's door, desperate to look at her but terrified at the thought. He'd meant to get some sleep, real and genuine rest for his weary mind and his haggard body, but he couldn't find the willpower to stay in his bed, keep his body pressed in the mattress. The Doctor needed to be moving, always, and so he found himself walking his ship's length.

Jack had found him in the beginning, and that was something new. The Doctor had been following the TARDIS's odd bursts of energy, been trying to decide if it was something to be concerned about or not, when he'd found himself in front of the time agent's door. He hadn't really given much thought to it being Jack's door, had just been focused on his singular goal when he opened the door and heard the sharp intake of breath. And there had been Jack, doing very private things, and there had been the Doctor, unintentionally watching. And well, that was different.

The Doctor shoved his fingers through his hair as he found himself in front of Rose's door for the thirty-third time that night. He stopped walking, put his ear against the frame, and listened to her breathing through the walls. He felt her warmth, too, and just as it had been thirty-two other times, it was comforting. The Doctor smiled a bit, sighed, sagged his old body against the wall for support.

_Why hello, Doc. Come to play? _

He let his hand hover over the knob, more than he'd let himself do all those other times, and counted out forty reasons he should turn around and try to sleep again. Rose sighed in her sleep, he heard it, and all the reasons turned to mush and his mind focused on the way he imagined her chest would have risen and fallen quite dramatically, putting on a show even in her sleep.

_Sorry, didn't mean to barge in here like this. Careless, I am. _

He twisted the knob slowly, his breath held still in his throat, every turn one centimeter closer to his demise. When the latch broke free, the Doctor pushed forward on the heavy door, conscious of where the creaks would be, where he needed to apply pressure to keep things silent. The room was not fully dark, a soft glow coming from a lamp Rose had left on by her dresser, and it was more than enough for him to see everything he had come to see. But, decisions must be made. Swallowing thickly, the Doctor pressed the door closed behind him, careful not to disrupt the energy of the room, determined to not have her startle awake from a gush of air from the hallway.

_I admit, didn't think it would ever be MY room you'd stumble into in the middle of the night._

The urge to climb on top of her was strong, but he managed to resist. The Doctor moved silently with his bare feet, stood in the shadow near her bed, and marveled at the way she slept. Rose's hair was tied in a knot on top of her head, her lips parted, her arms wrapped around a pillow, her body twisted to one side. His hearts raced as he followed the curve of her body, aware that this was the first time he had ever gazed upon her in such an intimate way, ever had such access to see her. Her sleep shorts were bunched up around her thighs, exposing such a creamy stretch of skin that he flexed his fingers to keep from reaching out. Her top was twisted too, and he realized she was an active sleeper, flailing about the bed all night. The Doctor licked his lips, released a withheld breath, and sought out the length of her legs. They seemed silky, and he wanted to lick them so badly.

_I'll leave. Terribly sorry. _

_No, no, come here, Doctor. _

His erection was not a surprise. In fact, he expected it from the moment he heard her sigh from out in the hallway, knew it was just an inevitability that he was headed towards. He was sick, right down to his hearts and his core and his brain, but it was not the night where he fixed himself. No, he was no where near a cure for the anger and rage that intertwined inside him, and he was aware only of his need to find relief again. He knew this night was not about salvation, but about desperation. He loosened the strings on his cotton trousers while he watched her toss her head to other side, her neck exposed to him, as if she wanted it. Wanted him to lean down and nibble on her delicate flesh like a fine treat.

_You don't have to be so lonely, Doctor. I can help you. _

The Doctor stepped backwards, covering himself in the shadows of the room, and let the fabric pool on the floor. He hadn't worn pants, had left them behind because somehow he knew they'd be a bother when he was out walking the halls. Jack had known, too...but that was something else. Rose rolled to her back, threw an arm across her stomach and he watched as the breath left her lungs and entered it again, and he wanted to be what entered her. Cock in hand, he charted a lazy course about himself as he watched her. He felt greedy, having her all alone and unaware, and he let his eyes stay right there on that chest that he so often kept himself from really appreciating. And oh, it was a sight to appreciate. She slept without the confines of a bra, and he drew his hand back to his hilt as he admired the curves of her breasts, the way they sloped outward naturally, instead of being bound up in that damned lace contraption he so often glimpsed through her t-shirts.

_I can help you. I really can. Just come here. _

He had to remind himself that this was a privilege, and that he needed to see everything he could while she slept. That he didn't have unlimited time here. Rubbing his thumb along the head of his cock, he focused on her mouth. He loved that mouth, possibly more than he loved her, if he loved her at all, hard to tell when his hearts were so black, really. And the way her lips were parted, he stifled a groan as he thought what she would think if she knew he was there. Touching himself while she slept. Rubbing one out while he stared at her body. He stepped back just a little more, just to be sure the darkness was absolutely shrouding him. Next he skated his eyes down to her stomach, and he thought there had never been a more perfect stomach for coming on. Flat, with a little dimple near her hip.

_That's it. Just have a seat with Captain Jack. _

Rose stirred, her eyelashes fluttered a bit, and the Doctor felt both his hearts jump, lodge in his throat, a cool sweat break out across his stomach and thighs, his hand movements frozen. He was in the shadows, he was sure of that, but if she flipped her bedside light on...

The Doctor didn't breathe while he watched her wake up. It wasn't unreasonable, she'd been in bed for many hours, might need to use the restroom or something, but gods, he hoped not. Hoped she'd just turn over and sleep longer, give him more. Fate was not kind, though, and Rose's eyes fluttered all the way open and she brought her hands up to her face, rubbed her eyes. To his relief, Rose turned on her side, her back to him, and he almost let himself breathe. But then she was raising a leg up, bent at the knee, and her elbow was moving in a curious way, and he wondered what on Earth she might be doing. Curiosity fanned about him, and, deeming it slightly safe, if not completely illicit, he resumed his slow and quiet movements around his erection. Knowing she could turn the light on, flip over, and catch him in the act only intensified the outright demented thing he was doing, and he stroked himself with a fervor. Her elbow kept moving, and it took him a full minute after he heard that delicious noise escape her that he realized she was touching herself. He watched in panic as she kicked her little shorts off, revealed her perfect behind. The line from her spine to her bum was beautiful and stunning. The curve of her bottom was gradual, and he longed to cup it, trace the line of her sex with his index finger. She moaned again, and he brought his other hand up, began quietly thrusting himself into his hands, hopeful that it would remain a dry situation as he was sure moisture would make noise, draw her attention.

_Doctor, you're so frisky. No boxers or anything?_

_Do you want me to? Say you want me to. _

When he bit down on his own lower lip to keep from coming, to delay it just a tad longer, make this fantastic moment last, Rose did something amazing. She flipped on to her stomach, bum in the air, and he could see her little fingers between her legs, could see her pussy spread open for him as she rubbed, as the pillow swallowed the sounds she made. Thankfully, her head remained looking the other direction, and he used every muscle in his body to keep from striding over and plunging into her, taking her by surprise and fucking her until she gasped and screamed for him, until she called out his name in a moment of pleasure. Her fingers slipped back and forth, making no move to enter herself, much to his dismay, but teased that slick little bud, caused her to buck her hips around, nearly humping her own hand. What had she been dreaming about? He squeezed his tip while he imagined it was him, thoughts of him that had woken her from her sleep and inspired her to touch herself.

_Okay, okay, I'm sorry. But if you ever change your mind, Doctor, I'm here. _

His release was close, and panic puttered around him. Could he come quietly? What would he do with the mess? Should he just go do it on her, see what happened? The sickness inside him gnawed at him, begged him to just do it, do that last thing and deal with the consequences later, but he still had a touch of reason about him. He slowed his movements, desperate to hold on at least until Rose came, and the fear of being caught prickled at him, poked him in the side with a stick but he persevered, adamant that this was a moment he needed to have.

Rose's hips wiggled about, and soon she flipped to her back, one arm thrown across her face and the other hand still flicking away at herself, and the Doctor wanted to leave the shadows and be there with her, wanted to act like it wasn't weird that he was standing naked in her room while she slept, and then while she did _this,_ but he knew it was weird. It was foul and wretched and he couldn't think about it anymore, because Rose was coming. Loudly. Her moans turned to small yelps, and her fingers pressed down on herself, her palm flat against those wet folds as she came. Following her cue, he pulled one more time and caught the mess in his hand, holding his breath inside himself for fear even his ragged breathing would give him away.

The Doctor counted six minutes until Rose rolled to her side and buried her face in her pillow, her bare bottom once again on display for him. He could do it again, he absolutely could stay and spill himself out on to her carpet, but he had to go. If ever there were a time to go, this was it. He used his mostly clean hand to gather his trousers back up, walked on the balls of his feet, made it to her door. She sighed again, heavily, and he was out of the shadows, could easily be seen if she opened her eyes. And she'd see her half naked Doctor tiptoeing around with one hand holding something and the other hovering over her door, and that was the only reason he managed to stay calm while he twisted the knob and slipped out. In the hallway, he thought he heard her bed shift, suspected she might have heard him exit, but she hadn't seen. He was positive of that.

A shower, and maybe a cup of tea, that's what he needed. He was going to cure himself of this damned disease, this anger ridden body, but first he needed a shower and tea.

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**A/N: If I could hug each of you who have left me a review, I would. You're all brilliant people, and I am grateful that you keep reading this dark story.**

**This story has a few chapters left in it for sure. I mean, if you're waiting around for a resolution, like I know some of you are, your patience will be rewarded...eventually. Promise. **

**More soonish, so much love, xoxo Emmy **


	7. Chapter 7

Watching her becomes his new hobby.

He's always watched her, always had her in his peripheral, always glanced at her here and then when he thought she wasn't looking, but this is new. This is a new and dark need that he found in himself after his encounter in her bedroom, the one where he might have watched her sleep and then watcher her touch herself and all the while touched himself in return. That night that had slipped into his mind like a comforting item, a blanket or a trinket that he grasped for when the sickness of his own rage got to be too much.

Watching Rose when she really and truly had no idea he was there became the only fix for his madness. No more prostitutes, no more women with broken hearts and judging eyes. He needed Rose, the real and present Rose, and he needed her often. He had schemed up a few ideas for curing himself after that night, repulsed by his own actions, but they involved either regeneration or taking Rose home for good, and both thoughts only replaced the battle-born emptiness with a loneliness that he knew he wasn't strong enough to handle. So he watched her, here and there, and in return he got days of peace. Days where his mind quieted and he could focus on helping and doing good in the universe without quite the effort it took before, without the chatter in his mind that constantly reminded him how alone he was, how evil he was.

Private moments, those were the best. Not just private like she was having a cuppa in the kitchen alone, but private like she discarded her clothes and walked around her bedroom uninhibited. He found her doing just that one day when her door was slightly cracked. They'd spent the day collecting samples from a rainforest on a deserted planet, running from wild animals and trying to avoid the sink holes, and Rose had, he was sure, looked knackered when they stumbled into the TARDIS. He'd planned to stroll by her room very casually, see if she was asleep, see if she needed anything, but he'd found her door cracked. And he heard her humming. And he was lost from there.

Lining his eye up with the crack, the Doctor had been amused to find Rose dancing around her room in nothing but her knickers. She was singing to herself, and he realized she had those little earbuds in, was listening to music, and he wished he could hear the sounds too. Her knickers were black, which surprised him because he assumed everything she owned was pink, and her breasts looked full and different than they had when she had been laying in her bed. Bouncing all around like this, the Doctor noted, gave him a different and appealing perspective.

The tightness in his pants was nearly immediate, and he felt that greedy itch inside himself, begging to do the revolting thing that he loved to do while looking at her. The Doctor tuned his ears into the ship, trying to figure out where Jack was, had to be absolutely sure that he wouldn't stumble upon the Doctor doing _that_ and get the wrong idea...again. When he was confident that Jack was in his room, the Doctor exhaled deeply and let his hand rub himself through his trousers, satisfying that filthy need for friction. Rose had her eyes closed while she danced, her hands up and in her own hair, then sliding down her body as her mouth moved with the words he couldn't make out. That little wrinkle in her hip as she twisted and turned, he loved that crease, wanted to lick it, nibble it. She turned her back to him, and there was that bum. He was obsessed with her behind, and spent far too many hours each day thinking of ways to both worship and punish it.

The Doctor's breath was unsteady as he forced himself to admit what he was doing. He was spying on his companion. At this point, he reasoned, he was so far gone that he didn't know if there could ever be redemption. In his next body, he'd still be paying for these wrongs. The right thing, or at least, the more right thing to do, would be to go to his room now and finish himself off in peace. Use these images of her bare body while he stroked himself in privacy, but he wasn't a _right_ kind of guy. This body was full of treason and harm and greed, and no matter how many times he smiled at Rose each day, how many times he gave her the face of her Doctor when inside he felt like a completely different and raw Doctor, he was still a perverted and desperate Time Lord with an obsession called Rose Tyler.

Belt buckle undone, zip down, pants pushed down to his thighs, the Doctor grasped his erection and focused his eye on Rose, positive that keeping her in his line of sight would prevent him from getting caught. And that worry that he might get caught kept him pumping, kept him going, moved his body from aroused to manic with need. One hand braced against the frame of the door, the Doctor ground his hips into his fist, made himself raw from the dry need of it all. He moved his thumbs in circles around the head of his cock, guiding that bit of moisture down his shaft, an agonizing process that he tried not to think would be easier if it were Rose's saliva instead. A fleeting image of the woman on her knees in her kitchen, her sticky mouth and her freckled forehead came to him, but he pushed it away. He needed Rose, needed to come because of Rose.

His companion surprised him when she hooked her thumbs in her knickers and slipped them down her hips. He hadn't expected a show, but he was pleased, and his movements sped up. Rose shook her bare behind around the room as she flipped through piles of clothes, her thighs rubbing together and then separating now and then, giving him the smallest little eye full. Finding purchase, Rose slipped a satin looking gown over her head, and the Doctor pumped faster as his view of her body disappeared. Almost there.

She didn't put new knickers on, though, and that kept him focused. Her bum was bare beneath that gown, and he squeezed his cock while staring. The sickness started talking then, trying to convince him to enter the room, she wouldn't even hear him come in with those buds in her ear. Told him to come up behind her, bend his knees, and he'd slide right into her with just a quick thrust, and she'd scream and shout but he'd grasp her hips, thrust again, and she'd be scared and probably not moist, but maybe she'd keep her head facing away from him, maybe she'd think it were Jack, and maybe he'd fuck her until she was moist, until she came around him like the little prick tease that she was.

Teeth clenched together, he pushed the voice away and watched Rose flop on to her stomach on her bed, watcher her bend her legs at the knee, watched her little ankles cross together and her toes wiggle as she lounged. He could hold those ankles in his hands, use them to spread her open, like levers or gears and just plunge right in, pound his hips into her behind as she screamed, tried to twist around and see his face. Would she hate his face? Be horrified that it was him and not her pretty Captain come to have his way with her?

And it was disgusting, but he imagined it was Jack in there, doing just that. Imagined she was opening her legs willingly for the time agent, and he came with a groan that he didn't even try to stifle. The Doctor milked his orgasm, his mouth open, his eyes glued to her legs. Stumbling backwards, the Doctor fell into the wall opposite her door, his body shaking with the pleasure of his own disgusting actions.

Trousers mostly righted, he hurried down the hall, desperate to find his door, desperate to be away from her and his shame and her bum. What he was doing was wrong, terribly unkind, not very Doctor-like at all, and he needed to stop. Not being obsessed with Rose hardly seemed like an option, but maybe she wouldn't be so opposed to helping him with his problems. Maybe she'd pity him and his broken soul, comfort him the way he always did for her.

A smile ghosted over his lips as he began planning.


	8. Chapter 8

It's four o' clock in the morning when the Doctor realized that the sickness inside him had morphed. He was born of death, the product of a war that he won and lost at the same time, and he carried around a unique kind of anger, an anger that tinted and warped everything, because of it. The skies never looked quite the right shade, his smile never reached all the way to his eyes, and his body never felt sated. The Doctor, at least this Doctor in this body with these hearts, knew more about pain than love. Which is how the sickness found the strength to grow and change from anger to something new. Obsession.

He'd tried to cure himself at least a dozen times. Magazines, photos, a prostitute, a sad woman, some voyeuristic maneuvers, but he knew that the real answer was a pink cheeked human that slept while he floundered. He wasn't completely blind—he knew there were serious things to consider. Was the end of his pain reason enough to risk things with her? Was he greedy enough to take from her what he needed, whether or not she offered? Could he do this without breaking her? Would he survive if she wanted to go home after? Head in hands, the Doctor weighed his decisions. She was special, this human, and he hated the idea of ruining things with her, of losing her, but he was hardly himself. A cruel beast of obsession ruled his body, and try though he might try to resist, she offered him refuge. Well, her body did, even if she didn't know it.

The Doctor walked circles around his room, and it was close to six when he heard Jack's knock on the door.

"Doc? Can I come in?" It wasn't a great time, he needed to figure out his plan, but Jack was a guest on his ship, and he owed him politeness. Especially after all the times Jack could have told Rose what a pervert the Doctor was but chose not to. No, he owed Jack hospitality and kindness.

"Sure!" Jack swung open the door, a knowing smile on his lips before he closed it.

"Thought I heard you up. Bit too early for Rose, still. What are you doing in here?" Jack's brow knitted as he looked at him, and the Doctor forced himself to look normal, composed. Hoped Jack couldn't see the calculated plot he was devising written on his face.

"Just thinking." A smile, but it was forced. Arms crossed, sweat on his brow. The Doctor hoped he wasn't too obvious, but the Captain was sharp.

"Ah, thinking about our friend, huh?" The Doctor envied Jack's humility, the way he dove right in to conversations, made himself at home. Jack sat on the bed, forcing the Doctor to take a seat on the chair by his dresser, nervous to be too close to the man.

"That easy t'read, huh?" No more forced smiles, raw emotion. Jack only nodded.

"Love her, don't ya?" The lines of Jack's mouth turned down, and the Doctor couldn't look at him. Couldn't discuss this, could hardly admit some things to himself. Instead of answering, the Doctor dropped his head to his hands again, hoped that his friend would take a hint and leave, instead of coming across the room. Instead of dropping to his knees in front of him, instead of grabbing the Doctor's arms and trying to look at his face. Instead of running a hand down the Doctor's chest and pushing him back.

It was desperation that made the Doctor close his eyes while Jack fiddled with the zip on his trousers. It was humiliation that kept his eyes closed when his erection was touched through his pants. It was loneliness that didn't protest when Jack freed the Doctor of his fabric bonds, when he found himself being touched...rubbed.

But it was his obsession that spoke up when Jack's mouth began to descend. It was the greediness that took over when he put himself away and watched as Jack stumbled back, a sad frown on his face. And it was that remaining bit of rage that propelled the Doctor down the hallway, his plans discarded, and into Rose's room.

She was tangled in her sheets when he found her, her face pressed into her pink pillowcase, her arm hanging off the side of the bed. It would be so easy to...and it was. It was easy and he was going to do it before he lost his mind thinking about it. His back to the door, the Doctor stripped his clothes off and marveled at how deeply Rose slept. How many times could he have come in there and gotten naked without a care for noise and Rose wouldn't have noticed, dead to the world as she were? She didn't even stir when he walked across the room, when he stood next to her bed with his erection in his hand. She didn't shift or flutter her eyelashes when he reached out and pulled the sheet away from her shoulders, down to her waist.

He couldn't say if he were nervous, because emotions were far removed by then. It was the Doctor and his obsession, his demons, his raw need manifesting as he slipped into the empty place in her bed, as he wrapped his arms around her back, pulled her close to him, moved his lips to the back of her neck and whispered quieting sound to her as she woke up.

"Doctor?" He could hear the hesitation in her voice, but it didn't wound him. He understood.

"Rose. I...I need you." And he swallowed one more time before he closed the distance between them, pressed his erection into her behind, set his forehead between her shoulder blades. He was prepared for a refusal, had been building himself up for the moment where he'd have to decide to force it or walk away, but she didn't speak. There was stillness, and neither of them moved, and he counted her breaths. Her diaphragm expanded and contracted, and each breath caused her back to brush against his chest again, sending sparks of energy through him that he could hardly understand. He waited, because he had to. He had to know exactly what she'd do, couldn't move until he had a positive identification on her feelings, whatever they were.

"O..okay. Okay." They were deciding breaths, moments that changes his life, because then her hips moved backwards and an agreement was made. He might have stopped then and considered things, had another conversation where he examined the implications that came with her entering into this willingly, but he was hardly himself at the prospect of her agreement. They were doing this, and his body responded with urgency, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts, cupping them and bending his knees, pressing himself firmly in to the softness of her shorts. A small moan from her mouth was a further affirmation, a wild chord struck deep in his hearts, and he couldn't stop from biting her shoulder.

"Rose. My Rose." The words spilled out of him, months of obsessing coming to a head, and he ground against her, his tongue running laps around her freckles. "Need you. So...so much." Panting and moaning, and he couldn't tell who was making which noise when he slid his hand from her breast, down her stomach, into her shorts, into her knickers, into her.

"Ahh! Doctor!" When she flipped over, straddled his lap, he thought he might have imagined the whole thing. The Doctor was sure she hadn't just called his name, wasn't pushing her garments aside, rubbing his cock against her wetness. In each and every fantasy, Rose remained fairly lifeless, letting him do what he needed, but never shouting out, never slipping his throbbing erection inside of her, but that's exactly what she did and he held on to her hips like he might fall and all this might end. The shape of her lips as she rode him, the bouncing of her breasts as she lifted herself and crashed back down on him, the curl of her fingers as she gripped her hands over his: he memorized them all in fear he'd never see them again. He needed her and yet he had her and he had no idea how that could be. The Doctor bucked his hips up, his cock being swallowed by the tight walls of Rose Tyler, and he wondered if this was what love felt like.

She tried to make eye contact, tried to find his blue eyes with hers as she sheathed him inside of her, but he couldn't do it. The Doctor was aware of the bruising forming under his palms, marking Rose's hips as his, and he let his eyes wander her body in admiration, absorbing every little thing that he could about her, except those eyes. She stopped then, leaned forward, and the angle was different, exciting. The Doctor began bucking his hips up into her from this new position, but she didn't respond. A hand on his cheek, a thumb under his eye, and finally he looked at her. Had to, because she was holding him inside her and was asking him to do this one thing for her.

"Ya gotta look at me, Doctor." Lip trapped between those teeth, she began riding him again, and because he wasn't strong enough not to, not anymore, he watched her face change and he wondered if she were watching his change as well. Rose's mouth opened and closed as she rode, her face covered in pleasure and need and greediness. What did she see? Did she see him as he was, this face with the nose and the ears and the slight wrinkle? Did she see him breaking apart beneath her, his life hardly his own anymore?

Her hand covered his, guided him somewhere, and he felt the little pulsing bud and marveled. The Doctor stroked it a few times and the noises she made were everything he needed. A sheen of sweat covered her body, he noticed, and he had to taste it. Sitting up, holding her in his lap, he licked the trails of glistening liquid from her skin, his tongue telling her things that his mouth couldn't say, his demons slipping out of him, around him, around them, away.

He had no way to tell if she were going to come, didn't have the right words to ask her, and could barely hold on anymore when he exploded, her name just shapes on his lips that never were spoken. And he thought she'd be angry, thought she'd demand more, but Rose Tyler, his Rose Tyler, knew what he needed. Slid off of him, back to her bed, and pulled him down beside her.

His plans were rubbish. Never was any good at following through with plans, but he thought, maybe, laying there with Rose's scent and taste and touch all over him, he thought he might be cured just the same.

END

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**A/N: Well everyone, thank you so, so much for taking this journey with me. I have loved reading the reviews and being able to interact with so many of you. Your support has been wonderful. Please leave me your last thoughts on the story. 3**

**I've loved writing this Doctor, but it's time for me to get something new going, so I hope you'll come see me again soon in my new stories. **

**Love to Tardis-BadWolf, my partner in crime, for holding my hand through nearly all of my writing. Go read her stories, too, while you're at it.**

**xoxoxoxoxo Emmy **

**Update: Epilogue has been requested many times, so it will be coming. Stay tuned.  
**


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